Realm of Light (18 page)

He glanced up, but
didn’t meet her gaze. With a sigh, he buckled on the sword. Its weight felt
right upon his hip. Confidence surged through him, and he felt as though he
could walk into any battle now and win. Wearing Exoner was like having an extra
man at his side.

Reaching into the
saddlebag, Caelan pulled out a fur-lined cloak and warm gauntlets. With them
on, he adjusted the stirrup lengths and mounted. His long legs almost dragged
the ground, but he knew his pony was capable of carrying his weight all day
without tiring. Indeed, he would take one of these ugly little steeds any day
over the long-legged, flashy horses bred in Imperia.

A sudden commotion
behind him made him whirl the pony around in time to see the nordeer bounding
through the trees. Swift and graceful, they flitted away, their white coats
ghostly pale against the snow.

“Quick!” Lea
cried, spurring her pony forward. “They are our guide. Keep up with them.”

There was no more
time to wonder or question. Caelan galloped after the nordeer, settling deep in
the saddle and ducking low to avoid branches. Without asking, he knew they were
heading for the Cascade Mountains, and in less than an hour they were climbing
a steep, rocky trail and picking a scrambling path through snowdrifts.

The Cascade River
itself, so mighty and swift when it thundered through the mountain pass during
summer, now lay frozen in slumber, buried beneath ice and snow. They crossed it
at a reckless gallop, hoofbeats echoing down the mountain pass like thunder. On
the other side rose a trail steep and harrowing, seeming to go almost straight
up in places.

Yet the ponies
never faltered or balked, no matter how difficult the way. Caelan strained to
keep the nordeer in sight. Sometimes he lost them completely and had to rely on
the quick clatter of their hooves or the swift flick of a tail as one bounded
into sight among the rocks then vanished again.

The chase was
thrilling. He found himself glorying in the whip of cold air against his face.
The wild recklessness of the ride set his heart pounding in delight. He had not
enjoyed anything so much in years, and he remembered how as a boy he used to
live for those stolen moments when he could escape to the glacier and gallop
free and wild across its expanse.

Today, he could
feel the hearts of the nordeer, and a part of him ran with them, swiftly and
effortlessly, like the wind itself.

Above them, the
steep trail ascended into a cloud of fog and icy mist. Suddenly he could see
nothing. The whole world was blanked out in damp silence.

Snorting, the pony
slowed down, and Lea’s mount crowded it from behind. “I can’t see anything,”
she called out.

“Stay close,”
Caelan warned her.

This was always a
danger in the mountains. The sudden fogs could lead an unwary traveler to an
unexpected plunge over a precipice. He tightened the reins, although his pony
was wise enough to pick a careful way through the rocks.

As for the
nordeer, they seemed to have vanished completely. He could not see them, could
not hear them.

It was tempting to
halt and retreat. He could rely on his own knowledge of the trails to take them
down safely again. But the glacier was so close now. The wind blowing in his
face smelled of ancient ice.

Caelan’s blood
stirred. He loved the glacier. For too long he had been away. He would not turn
back now.

“Let’s keep
climbing,” he said, and kicked his pony forward.

The pony scrambled
and lunged up a series of stair-stepped ledges that looked suitable for a goat;
then the fog cleared, and they were above the cloud band, up on top above the
rest of the world.

Caelan glanced
down at the treetops below, dark green tips peeking out through the cottony
cloud. The pass plunged a dizzying distance far below them; overhead, the blue
wheel of sky arched clear. Caelan’s head swiveled as he drank in the sight of
the vast gray-green ice of the glacier itself.

His heart filled
his throat, and suddenly he was a heedless boy again. Tipping back his head and
whooping in sheer joy, Caelan glimpsed the herd of nordeer in the distance and
kicked his pony after them. This was the one place where he felt at home, truly
one with earth and sky. The glacier had been his refuge, his place of restoration,
his own private sanctuary. Now his mind felt clear and peaceful for the first
time in too long. He bent lower over the pony’s neck, urging it faster after
the bounding nordeer.

Lea followed at
his heels, never falling too far behind.

The nordeer ahead
slowed down. Suddenly he was among them, riding in their midst. The sunshine
flowed over them, gilding their rippling shoulders. Their antlers looked tipped
with silver; then, in surprise, he realized it was no illusion. The silver was
real, and their large, solemn eyes were blue, not animal brown.

Nor were they wild
creatures as he had originally thought, for now each animal wore a bright green
collar around its neck, from which hung a silver bell. The bells were ringing
with every bounding stride the animals made, heralding their arrival in a
melodic, tinkling cascade of sound.

He had not noticed
the bells before. Nor had he ever traveled so far across the glacier so fast.
He seemed almost to feel distance slipping past his ears along with the rush of
the wind, then they dipped down a slope and raced up the other side. At the
crest of the rise, the nordeer stopped in a kicked-up flurry of snow and ice,
great plumes of white breath shooting from their nostrils.

Caelan’s pony
stopped with them, and he sat there in the saddle, his fingers slack on the
reins, his heart pounding from exertion, and stared at the array of tents
spread out before him. They were fashioned of every possible color and
hue—bright, billowy shelters that could be knocked down and moved in a matter
of minutes. Smoke curled from holes in the tent tops, and there was a general
bustle and activity in all directions, punctuated by the rhythmic hammering of
smiths at work.

Some of Caelan’s
joy faded, and he felt nervous again. He wasn’t sure why he had come here, or
why Lea had insisted. The Choven were mysterious and nomadic. Seldom had he
seen one; now and then they appeared at summer fairs to trade. Never
permanently at one location, they could not be found by anyone who sought them.
Those wishing to buy their magical wares had to leave word, and eventually the
Choven would come of their own accord. They could not be haggled with. They
could not be cheated. Sometimes they brought what a person had ordered;
sometimes they delivered objects that they felt were more important. It was
considered unwise to question a Choven selection; to refuse or break a deal was
unheard of.

The nordeer
trotted down to the camp, bells tinkling, antlers flashing silver in the sun.
Caelan and Lea followed in their wake, and suddenly the flap of every tent
seemed to open at the same time. Staring openly, the Choven peered out at them
in silence.

Feeling very
self-conscious, Caelan moved one hand nervously to the hilt of his sword, then
dropped it. Could he be one of these people, as Lea had said? No, it was too
fantastic. He refused to believe it. He had known both his mother and father.
He looked like them. There had never been any hint that he and Lea were
foundlings.

Yet what else
explained why he was so drawn to the glacier, why he loved it so? What else
explained how he could hold a warding key in his bare hands when doing so would
kill any other man? Lea was no liar. She had loved Beva, who in his own rigid
and stern way had been kind to her as a child. Why would she invent a falsehood
against her own parents?

Caelan felt
confused and wary as he and Lea rode to the center of the camp. It was a
cleared space, encircled by smithy tents. All the tent flaps were tied open.
The smell of heated metal filled the air, and haphazard heaps of metal slugs
lay about—gold, steel, silver, and pewter—along with pots of what looked like
precious stones of every kind. This casual display of wealth seemed even more
impressive because no guards were in evidence.

Still, he had
never heard of anyone who would dare steal from a Choven tribe. What had they
to fear?

The sounds of
hammering stopped momentarily, and then even the smiths themselves came out to
stare at Caelan and Lea. Stripped to the waist, their dark, leathery hides
glistening with sweat that steamed in the frigid air, they were short, chunky
individuals with broad, flat-boned faces marked by thick, dark brows and wide,
thin mouths. Their eyes were tilted at the outward corners, as black as
obsidian, and penetrating.

Caelan stared back
at them, finding himself almost forgetting to breathe. It was said a Choven
could look into your heart and read your future. It was said a Choven could
look into your mind and impart whatever he wished there. It was said a Choven
could whistle and the seasons would change in obedience to his will.

“Caelan,” Lea said
in a soft voice.

Startled, he
glanced the way she was looking.

Garbed in flowing
robes of white, a Choven male was striding toward them. Taller than the others,
tall enough perhaps to come to Caelan’s shoulder, he carried a long staff of
gleaming black wood banded with gold. His arms were encircled with gold
bracelets of the most intricate design.

As he drew nearer,
Lea slid from her saddle and gestured for Caelan to do the same.

When he obeyed,
the nordeer flicked their ears and melted away among the tents. The ponies went
with them. Caelan was left feeling surrounded and cut off. Edgily, he moved
forward to stand a little in front of Lea, and crossed his arms over his chest
where he could grab his dagger and new sword quickly if he needed to. His gaze
flicked back and forth among the watching Choven, in case they decided to close
in.

Lea frowned at him
in rebuke. “Stop it,” she whispered. “Why do you fear?”

If she intended to
shame his warrior pride, she succeeded. Hot-faced, he said nothing, not even
when she stepped around him and hastened forward to meet the figure in white.
She bowed to the Choven, and he stretched out a dark, long-fingered hand in
response.

Up close, his skin
had the texture of tree bark. His dark eyes moved like liquid in his face, and
Caelan could feel his inquisitiveness like a physical force.

Stepping past Lea,
the Choven came right up to Caelan and stopped directly in front of him.

Caelan’s past
experience with the Choven, although limited, had been that they either ignored
a person completely or they stared in blatant rudeness. This Choven was of the
latter variety. He took his time looking Caelan over from all angles, but
Caelan had suffered worse scrutinies on the auction block. He put on his stony
mask and gave the Choven a flat, rebellious stare in return.

When the Choven
had finished his examination, he glanced at Lea. “Why does he fear?”

She inclined her
golden head respectfully and steepled her hands into a triangle of harmony. “My
brother is foolish and untrained, Moah.”

Caelan shot her a
glare that she ignored.

Moah tilted his
head to one side and held out his long-fingered hands, palms up. “You wear the
sword. You carry the emerald. You have followed the nordeer to us. We Choven
bid you welcome, Caelan E’non, as we welcomed your sister Lea long ago. Are you
ready to take your learning from us?”

Lea sent Caelan a
radiant glance of pride, her blue eyes shining. The other Choven watched from
their doorways. Silence floated over the camp.

Caelan felt a pull
of
sevaisin,
like the strong current of a river. Instinctively he braced
himself to resist it and glared at Moah. “For your kindness to my sister, I
give you my thanks,” he said in a stiff, formal tone that barely masked his
anger.

Lea gasped and
turned toward him, but he ignored her as he went on glaring at Moah. “But
beyond that, I am not your creature,” he said. He drew the beautiful sword so
swiftly the metal whistled against its scabbard. Sunlight flashed off the
blade, and the other Choven lifted their voices in a deep, eerie cry of
acclamation that made Caelan’s hair prickle up the back of his skull.

Swiftly he blocked
his feeling of kinship with it, distrusting how alive and intelligent it
seemed. He wanted nothing to do with something so strongly spell-forged, and he
bent down and laid the sword on a brightly patterned rug lying on the ground in
front of the nearest tent.

The Choven woman
standing in its doorway opened her mouth in silent astonishment and fled
inside.

Others spoke out
loudly in a language that sent chills crawling through Caelan. He knew enough
of the ancient words to recognize their tongue as one from darkest antiquity.
The air was growing charged, as though spells were being summoned. Caelan could
feel it around him, and his heartbeat quickened in alarm.

He did not know
what could happen if a Choven became angry. But just then his own temper was
boiling enough to keep him reckless.

Defiantly, he
slipped the carrybag off his shoulder and dropped it on the rug beside the
sword.

“Caelan, no!” Lea
said in distress.

He refused to look
at her and instead faced Moah once again, glaring down into the man’s shimmering,
unreadable eyes. “I cannot be bought,” he said through his teeth, his anger
like heat in his bones. “No matter how magnificent the price you offer, I am
free, and I will stay that way. You told my sister we are Choven, but we are
not. We are human, and we take pride in that.”

His speech
finished, he gave Moah a curt bow and wheeled around to stride away. “Come,
Lea,” he commanded. “We are leaving.”

Lea trotted beside
him, glaring in protest. “No, Caelan! You don’t understand anything. Why must
you be so rude?”